


Sheer Slips and Red Lips

by pterodactylichexameter



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/F, Shameless Smut, Strap-Ons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-11 02:36:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10453068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pterodactylichexameter/pseuds/pterodactylichexameter
Summary: Mor likes surprising Nesta with pretty new things they both benefit from.Written for the femslash smut week's prompt: Lingerie(Also with art by blogtealdeal!!)





	

**Author's Note:**

> The amazing art is thanks to Nicole (blogtealdeal on tumblr)!!!!

 

 

Nesta is in the middle of reading about library organizational systems when she catches a shift against the bathroom door as her wife pauses in the threshold.  She glances up from her book, only intending it to be brief, but Mor is standing there with a sly look that reads trouble. Or sex. She’s never sure which.

“What’re you reading?” Mor just asks, leaning against the threshold casually, one hip cocked out, the silver drapes of her robe parting slightly around her calves, the wide sleeves drawn halfway to her elbows. There’s a glint of thin gold at her wrist, where she hasn’t taken off her jewelry for the day.

Nesta’s eyes drop over her form. “A book,” she replies, lip twitching up in a teasing smile. She knows Mor will roll her eyes at her answer, but she likes the teasing every once in a while, even when neither of them can keep a straight face through it.

Sure enough, Mor’s groomed eyebrow ticks up, arms crossing. Something is definitely up or Mor would be in bed next to her already.

They’d been out all day, Mor away on errands in the town, Nesta in the archives. While both of her sisters had settled nicely in their roles after the war, Feyre as High Lady, Elain as an ambassador making all too convenient trips to Autumn for diplomatic trips to visit its newly crowned High Lord, Nesta had taken her own sweet time to figure out what she wanted to do with her immeasurable eternity.

Her work threading together human and Fae archives, breaching boundaries of hatred and misunderstanding all started with her work. Making human texts, stories, histories, available to Fae just as she dutifully shipped off the copies the scribes were making of prominent Fae works. At the root of mutual understanding, she’d thought, were stories.

And though her work often came home with her, reports of what had been shipped. What hadn’t. What new materials they’d received. How she could best make it available to the public, tonight she’d gathered something to read on her own time. One of the heavy books that Mor always peered over her shoulder to read and found tediously confusing. Nesta though, found she rather liked the twists and turns of literature that left her mind in a tailspin.

But the characters of her book fade rapidly from her mind as Mor slips back in the bathing room, pulling at the knot holding her robe closed. “You can tell me about your book when I get in bed, then,” she only says, disappearing to hang her robe on its customary spot by the towel rack next to the bathtub.

Nesta’s reaching for her bookmark on the nightstand when she sees Mor emerge again. Nesta pauses.

Mor is all feigned casual stride and the first thing Nesta notices before she’s even registered _what_ Mor is wearing is that there’s decidedly more skin showing than Mor’s usual bedclothes.

Even Mor’s usual attire, lightweight slips that barely reach the tops of her thighs with straps so thin all Nesta has to do is give a nudge and the shift slips around Mor’s waist, only needing another quick tug to get the fabric over Mor’s generous hips… Even those are more modest than what she has on now.

Nesta lets out a heavy breath, all in a whoosh of sound, hand still stretched out for her bookmark, at Mor standing in front of the mirror of her dressing table, fiddling with the bracelet still clasped around her wrist.

The lingerie she’s wearing looks to be for anything but sleeping. It’s a deep, vibrant red, the same color as that lipstick she wears that always manages to drive Nesta wild. From the back, Nesta’s eyes glaze over the thin red silk straps over her shoulders, the broader band, still sheer, that extends down from the clipped fastening at the dip of her spine. And even lower… The scrap of lace around her hips is doing absolutely nothing to hide more interesting curves where her hips broaden, rising just below the two dimples resting low on her back. Clipped to a thin garter belt are sheer black stockings, rising up to the upper parts of her thigh where they end in the same red lace as the rest of her attire.

“Mor,” Nesta says conversationally, finally managing to pull herself together enough to slip a marker in her book and set it aside. If Mor is wearing _that_ there’s no way they’re talking about her book of all things.

“Mhm?” Mor asks, avoiding Nesta’s gaze in the mirror where she’s eyeing the sheer lace, the delicate edge curving over the swells of her breasts. Through the fabric she can see the darker circle of her nipples, the peaks they make in the fabric.

“What, pray tell, is _that_?”  Her voice is all casual indifference, but it takes everything in her not to throw the covers off, to stride over to her wife and show her exactly how much she likes her new outfit.

“Oh this?” Mor asks, shrugging as she pulls her hair out of the knot it’s been tied up in, even though they both know Nesta’s eyes are still tracing every inch that it covers… and every inch that it doesn’t. “I picked it up today, do you like it?” She turns, then, golden waves falling around her shoulders, leans back a little against the low dressing table top.

Cauldron, the front…. The front scarcely covers anything important at all. Nesta’s eyes scrape over her body, the faint peaks of her breasts, the slightly curved plane of her stomach, dimpled with her silvery pink scars, then finally to the scalloped edge of lace that wraps low around her hips. It sends heat flooding through Nesta, seeing her wife displayed like this. Even though the few scraps of fabric barely cover her, they make her more enticing all the same. That mystery. Of finally being able to peel away the layers and have her as she wants.

Nesta avoids Mor’s pointed question, though, almost regretting she’s in her usual sleepwear. A huge shirt with the sleeves rolled up, a tear in the shoulder seam and a bare thread hanging off her wrist. Her own attire feels atrocious in comparison to Mor’s elegance. “Is there an occasion?” They’re flat in the middle of either of their birthdays, their anniversary still a few months away…

“Does there need to be?” Mor presses, pushing herself off the edge of the table and making for the bed. “Maybe I just like catching you off guard.”

Nesta snorts a little, leans forwards to catch Mor’s wrist when she gets close enough, making sure she comes the rest of the way to the edge of the bed. A rush of heat floods between her thighs when Mor shifts a little and Nesta catches the scent of her arousal through that thin lace. “Fuck, Mor,” Nesta only groans, knowing she’s been thinking about this all night, ever since she put the damn thing on in the first place, and reaches up to catch Mor around the back of the neck, pulling her mouth down to meet hers.

Their lips only touch for a brief, hungry moment before Mor draws back, smirking. “So I’m guessing you like it.”

But Nesta is already pulling her back down again, hands finding Mor’s hips, urging her down onto the bed.  Mor seems to abandon thought of a proper conversation and slides her hand into Nesta’s hair, lips parting against hers, tongue pressing into her mouth.

The sudden intensity spikes arousal, warm and aching between Nesta’s thighs.

Instead of letting Mor settle over her though, Nesta untangles herself from the sheets, half drowning in their kiss, and nudges Mor up and over until she’s on her back.

“You seem inspired tonight,” Mor says, a little more breathlessly this time, when their kiss breaks and Nesta throws her leg over Mor’s hip, straddling her and pausing to look down at the expanse of golden skin on display before her.

“And?” She’s already kissing her again, hand behind Mor’s head drawing her slightly up to meet her mouth, a kiss that’s hot and wet and has Mor’s hand tangled in her hair drawing her closer, nipping at Nesta’s lip.

The hand that’s not bracing herself up slides down Mor’s neck, the delicate arch of her throat, to cup her breast through the thin fabric, thumb catching over her nipple.  More pressure, drawing it between her thumb and forefinger until it peaks, and Mor’s leg wraps around Nesta’s waist, drawing her hips down to hers.

Nesta can barely think around her wanting: the ache between her thighs and the heat that crackles between them. When she draws away, Mor is panting, hands pushed up under Nesta’s shirt, finding purchase on the arch of her bare back.

“ _Nesta,_ ” she groans, and Nesta almost curses at the pleading in her tone, how much she wants this. Nesta may be louder than Mor in bed most of the time but the sounds that she _does_ make always sends sheer wanting flooding through Nesta’s core.

But Mor is rucking up Nesta’s shirt, trying to get it over her head and Nesta has to rise up, kneeling, to draw it the rest of the way over her head before casting it off the bed. Mor’s eyes flick down to Nesta’s breasts before reaching up to urge her down again, to fit their bodies together.

“And you say _I’m_ inspired,” Nesta teases when they break away, but Mor just lets out another breathless noise, beyond cohesion anymore, and her hand slides down past Nesta’s hips, drawing her closer.

Nesta slants her mouth across Mor’s, tongue sweeping through her mouth before she breaks away again, kissing down Mor’s neck, pausing to nip just under her ear, drawing out another breathless little noise. She could live on the sounds Mor makes when they’re in bed together, all whimpering pants and gasping moans that seem to fall out of their own accord when Nesta has two fingers buried in her and her tongue stroking over her clit.

Nesta’s free hand finds Mor’s breast again, less gently this time, palming the soft flesh before pushing the strap over her shoulder and drawing the cup down.

“Nesta,” Mor groans again, head falling back when Nesta’s lips trace a path over her collar bone, nuzzling into the top of her breast before closing over the peak of Mor’s nipple, tongue pressing over it before she sucks lightly, making Mor let out another noise, panting, fingers delving into Nesta’s hair.

It’ll be messy by morning but she doesn’t care. Not when Mor is moaning for her in a new set of vibrant red lingerie.

“Yes, princess?” Nesta teases, drawing her mouth away, eyes flicking up to Mor, her head thrown back against the pillow.

But Mor just moans her name again, hips pressing up. Nesta would tease her, drag it out and listen to every sound that she can draw from Mor’s lips, have her beg for her, but that’s too much to think about now, not when Mor is on the verge of begging her (Nesta knows).

“Fingers or tongue?” Nesta murmurs, nudging Mor’s chin up to kiss her neck, press her tongue over her skin and drag her teeth across the spot.

Mor’s thighs part, pressing open against the mattress when Nesta’s hand even begins to trace down the slightly curved plane of her stomach. Nesta almost curses at the blatant invitation in the gesture.

“Nesta,” Mor whimpers, clutching her shoulders. “I want your fingers,” she murmurs, dragging her fingers through Nesta’s hair, drawing her up to kiss her, once, a hot messy kiss before she’s murmuring against her lips, “And I want you to fuck me.”

Nesta sucks in a breath.

“Please,” Mor adds, breath catching as she pulls on Nesta’s hair a bit more desperately, grinding up into her.

If anything, Nesta knows how much Mor likes her toys. And there are plenty for the both of their satisfaction.

In another placatingly pleading gesture, Mor presses the tiniest brush of her lips against the corner of Nesta’s mouth.

She snaps, half fumbling off of Mor, to get to the bedside table where they keep a few things stashed, tugging out the contraption and blindly reaching for Mor again, finding her mouth, tongue pressing inside to taste her while her fingers search over the fabric at Mor’s hips, reaching between her thighs to feel how wet she is.

“You have to know this is what I was thinking when I put this on,” Mor gets out, voice pitched higher than usual, through panting breaths as Nesta strokes her through the soaked lace between her legs. She lets out a breathless whimper, hips pressing up, seeking, when Nesta withdraws slightly, just enough to push aside her underwear to stroke her again, fingers dipping only slightly into her before tracing up, spreading her wetness up to circle her clit.

“Tell me,” Nesta only manages to get out, nipping at her earlobe. They don’t usually talk any kinds of excessively, but sometimes Mor needs to get it out, to murmur filthy things, sometimes praise, sometimes not, in Nesta’s ear until they’re both so desperate for each other they can’t even breathe. Nesta, though, is rarely coherent to get out anything but panting requests, urging Mor for _more_ or for her fingers, do to that with her tongue again, harder, _faster_.

“I thought about you over me, Nes,” Mor murmurs, carding Nesta’s hair back from her face, hips rising to meet the motions of her fingers, circling her in slow, teasing strokes to work her up.  “I wanted you to—“ she breaks off, whining when Nesta dips a finger down into her, thumb picking up the rhythm against her clit. “—to tear this off me.”

Nesta’s rhythm falters, lips parting against Mor’s throat where she can feel her pulse, hammering just beneath the surface of her soft skin. There’s a hint of her perfume still left from earlier in the day, dabbed over her pulse points and deliciously fragrant, half warm floral vanilla, half _Mor_.  “I’m not going to tear it off you, Mor,” she whispers, slowing her hand enough to think around the feel of her, hot and wet.

Mor protests slightly at that, brow furrowing, but Nesta bites down a little more roughly under her ear and continues, “You’re going to keep this on,” she withdraws her fingers, reaching up to grab Mor’s breast, fingers still wet. “And give me something pretty to look at while I fuck you.”

A muttered curse falls from Mor’s lips and she gives a sharp tug to Nesta’s hair, drawing her mouth up to meet hers again, moaning into the heat of Nesta’s tongue pressing past her parted lips.

The kiss is hot and deep and has the heat already curling low between Nesta’s thighs aching for attention. But beneath her, Mor is scrambling for the abandoned toy left on the side of the bed and Nesta fumbles to help her.

“Come _on_ ,” Mor urges, groaning and glancing between them when Nesta throws the straps around her, struggles with too-hurried hands for the buckles.

Mor’s thighs slip from around Nesta’s waist, splayed on the bed to give her better access, and Nesta practically growls when she jerks the last strap tight enough around her hips, half focused on Mor leaning up on her elbows, watching Nesta sink a little bit lower.

Through a groaning nod, biting her lip, Mor’s stomach heaves in panting breaths as Nesta guides Mor’s underwear off until she’s casting them aside before glancing up to her again. Her brown eyes are half-lidded and dark, lips reddened with their kissing, Nesta’s biting, and there’s a flush on her cheeks, blushing down to her neck. Nesta’s eyes catch on her hardened nipples, one cup of her bra still pulled down, a bite mark already darkening on the side of her breast.

“Nesta,” Mor says again, _pleads_ , and Nesta takes one last look at her before sliding off.  “ _Nes_ -“ Mor’s brow furrows, but Nesta settles decisively behind her, maneuvering Mor until her hips are angled towards Nesta, half on her side, with Nesta positioned behind her.

Another ragged curse, barely audible when Mor realizes this is how Nesta intends to fuck her. She twists half onto her back, far enough to grab Nesta’s shoulder, slide her fingers through her hair, holding on.

“Good?” Nesta murmurs, reaching between them, down the outside of Mor’s thigh, over the red lace trimming the top of her stockings before sliding around the back to the inside of her calf, lifting her leg.

“Mmhm,” Mor just murmurs, nodding quickly, opposite leg curving back to rest over Nesta’s thigh. She can’t move anywhere but where Nesta guides her, splayed out on the bed as she releases her leg for only a moment to look down between them, guiding the toy between Mor’s parted thighs, right where she’s aching for attention.

“You want me to fuck you now, princess?” Nesta murmurs, nudging her hips forward until she can see it starting to press into her.

Mor just gives a silent, quick nod, red lips parted slightly.

Using her fingers on her wife is one thing. Hearing her hitch of breath, the way her body tenses, goes tight and loose all at once and the slight moan she lets out when Nesta slides into her is entirely another.

Mor’s nails scrape over Nesta’s scalp, her eyes slipping shut, opposite hand clutched in the sheets at her side, white-knuckled when Nesta pushes her hips forward the rest of the way into her.

A full bodied groan wanders up from Mor’s throat when Nesta pulls back, braces Mor’s leg again, sheer silk smooth under her fingers around Mor’s rounded calf.

“ _Nesta_ ,” Mor groans again, a little more desperate this time at the insistent press of Nesta’s hips into hers. Each rock has the base of the toy grinding just enough against Nesta’s clit that her head falls forwards.  She adjusts slightly, hips inching down the bed, and uses the hand squeezed in between them at her side to reach up around Mor’s shoulder, holding her in place to thrust up into her again, harder this time.

Mor whimpers, and Nesta takes advantage of Mor’s closed eyes, distracted wrinkle in her bow to lean in, tracing her tongue over Mor’s nipple.

Another sound, this one louder, Mor’s back arching as Nesta runs her tongue over her peaked breast before closing her mouth over it. The slightest scrape of teeth and Mor’s fingernails are biting into the back of Nesta’s head, dragging her closer.

And if there’s one thing Nesta can’t resist, it’s her wife asking her for more. Her hips rock into Mor’s, into the slick heat between her thighs, each thrust sounding out with how wet she is. Which only urges Nesta on even more, teeth dragging over her nipple enough to elicit the whimpering moan that comes when Mor’s lips part again.

Mor’s leg is already starting to get heavy, but Nesta pushes it a little higher, making Mor’s back arch towards her as she lets out a high, broken noise with her breath, unhinged enough that Nesta mutters a curse, letting out her own low groan when the change of angle has the toy hitting her clit just right.

“Fuck, _Nes_ ,” Mor gets out. “Do you know how good this is?”

Nesta withdraws enough to nip along the outer curve of her breast, pressing into her enough that it takes her a moment to gather her thoughts.  “Tell me.”

“Maybe I should fuck you for myself and you can find out,” Mor mutters, eyes slipping shut again and it’s all it takes for Nesta to growl, hips snapping harder into Mor, chasing her own pleasure as well as the soft little cry that Mor gives when it fills her.

“ _Tell_ me, Morrigan,” Nesta urges, darker, fingers clenching Mor’s leg. The ache of pleasure between her legs is tighter now, headier with each thrust and the friction pressing over her clit.

“Don’t stop,” Mor just murmurs, whimpering. Her skin is starting to dampen with sweat at the closeness of their bodies, the tension held between them. “Please, Nesta, you’re so good at this.”

“Fucking you?” Nesta pants out, a snarl of satisfaction rising in her chest when Mor whimpers at her question.

“Yes.” All Nesta wants to do is reach between Mor’s thighs for herself, spread her slickness and circle her clit until Mor’s entire body goes taut and she gives that broken cry she always does when the first wave of her climax hits.

“I want you to touch your clit,” Nesta murmurs, grating out the words through gritted teeth at her own building pleasure. She can never be as coherent as Mor, who isn’t even all that coherent in the first place. “ _Morrigan_.”

Mor lets out another sharp noise, higher pitched, and Nesta doesn’t have to ask twice before Mor’s free hand clutched in the sheets is reaching between her thighs.  “You want to know what I was _really_ thinking about?” she asks, all sense of holding back entirely gone.

“Mmm, tell me, princess,” Nesta murmurs, sucking on a spot on the side of her breast hard enough to bruise.  She’ll have marks on her tomorrow, and blunt pride tears through Nesta’s chest in satisfaction. Behind her on the pillow, Mor’s hair spreads out in a fan of burnished gold, her body flushed, trying to arch back, greet Nesta’s thrusts behind her.

“Your tongue,” Mor murmurs. “What you taste like after you’ve been between my legs.”

Nesta pants, hips moving of their own accord now, rocking into her as deep as she’ll take her, heady with the motions of her own pleasure too, the pressure that rises and rises in her as she feels the slickness between her thighs at her own arousal.

“I thought about you being over me first,” she continues. “When you have to hold onto the headboard to fuck me properly.”

Nesta’s eyes slip shut and she lets out a ragged groan. Everything is too much and not enough all at once.

“And that one time… when we did this downstairs and you bent me over the kitchen table.”

Nesta curses, the memory leaping back to mind, of the beautiful golden-tan spread of Mor’s back, the black lace of her underwear strewn on the floor, her hair pulled over one shoulder, moaning with one knee bent up onto the table, the other on her toes on the floor, the change of angle urging Mor to make the most ruining sounds Nesta has ever heard.

They’d fucked until they couldn’t take it anymore and Mor had peeled away Nesta’s straps with shaking hands hand turned them around so she was the one sitting on the table while Mor pushed her down, kneeling to sink between her thighs, not relenting even after the first time she came, tongue flicking against Nesta’s clit, rubbing and sucking until she came all over again, clenching hot and tight around two of Mor’s fingers curved into her.

The mental image seems to do just as much for Mor as it does for Nesta because she loses her coherency for a moment, biting her lip and clutching harder to Nesta’s hair.

“I’m so close, Nes--“ Mor moans, entirely gone, moving more insistently back against her now, in time with the steady press of her fingers between her thighs.  She whimpers when Nesta releases her leg, letting it drop back to Nesta’s thighs, and Nesta grasps her hip, bracing her to thrust into her again, deep enough that Mor lets out a cry.

Her cry fades into a whimper when Nesta’s hand reaches down between Mor’s thighs, pushing her own fingers out of the way.

“Let me touch you, princess,” Nesta murmurs, and Mor is already letting her take over, content with leaning back into Nesta, nails scratching through her hair, letting out small, breathless noises and grasping the sheets again.

Nesta quickens her pace, shuddering at the rise of her own pleasure, threatening to burst. “Are you going to come for me?”

“Nes-“

“ _Morrigan_ , come for me,” Nesta growls out, harsher, unable to hold back her own climax. She _wants_ to come with her wife, wants to know they’re both feeling the same pleasure.  Her fingers trace tight circles over Mor’s clit, relentless, and then Mor is giving that broken cry, every muscle tensing as she gasps, breath holding, releasing with each overwhelming wave of pleasure.

Nesta doesn’t realize her hand is between Mor’s thighs until Mor whimpers, tugging it away, oversensitive, and Nesta pulls out of her.

She’s fumbling with the straps, trying to get it off, when Mor turns around and gently pulls her chin up, pressing her lips against hers.

Nesta forgets all about the buckles, hands faltering to rise around Mor’s waist, the lines of her garter belt making little dents in the flesh of her hips.

Mor’s kiss is sweet, slow, and has Nesta gives a faint breath of satisfaction, gravitating towards her, the love and care behind the gesture.

“You’re good to me,” Mor murmurs through a hazy smile, withdrawing enough to nuzzle against Nesta’s cheek, kissing her there too.

Nesta traces light patterns on the warm skin of Mor’s back, the strength in her slender muscles. “I fuck you from behind and suddenly I’m good to you?”

Mor pulls back to give a little frown, a furrow in her brow and a pout to her rosy lips that Nesta can’t help but smile at, nuzzling into her to kiss her again, once, just on the corner of her mouth.  “Maybe I love you.”

Mor smiles, not answering immediately, and she’s the one who reaches between them to loosen the straps around Nesta’s hips, setting everything aside for the time behind before they get out of bed to clean up. “Of course you love me. Because I love _you_.”

The grin threatening to overwhelm Nesta’s face slips a bit wider, and she’s half drunk on ebbing pleasure, half at the thick cling of their scents in the air, the way Mor’s hair tangles a bit, frizzing around her head, and her lazy smile, the way her hands drift over Nesta’s shoulders and back like she can’t stop touching her.

They scoot closer together, face to face, almost touching noses on the pillow.  “You never actually told me what you were reading,” Mor murmurs, and Nesta finally does grin at that, chuckling.

But she gives a gentle nudge, inching forwards until she’s pressed into Mor’s chest, tucking herself right up alongside her, head tucked under her chin.  “I can’t even remember,” she murmurs, kissing Mor’s neck, simply because there’s a place under her lips to touch.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't forget to comment and come join me in my trashcan on [tumblr](http://pterodactylichexameter.tumblr.com)!


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